Harry Potter and the Crystal of Light
by Mistress-Pen
Summary: He turned away from her, afraid to face the accusation in her eyes.... the real chapter four has been uploaded
1. Default Chapter

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Disclaimer:

The following is a Harry Potter Fan Fic. Harry Potter and all of its subsidiaries are owned exclusively by J. K.. Rowlings…now that you clearly understand that… on with the story…

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Chapter One: The Dreamer 

"Live each day, as if it we're your last. It's written in the stars, your destiny is cast." – 

Elvis Presley, Wisdom Of The Ages 

A man and a boy sat quietly on the floor, sipping tea and enjoying each others company. The man, his handsome face wrinkled by time and the heavy wisdom of age, watched the boy beside him with interest. A long lanky figure, shaggy black hair, cheerful green eyes and a pleasant face that hid and enhanced the emotions he tried fruitlessly to suppress. He wore glasses, old frames that did much for the shape of his face. An odd scar peeked out from beneath the locks of hair that begged to see that sharp blade of a knife. The scar was the mark of a slave in the older mans land, but the boy did not seemed bothered by not having anyone to call master. In truth, the boy was far different from any the man had ever encountered before and it amused and intrigued him. 

He had first found the boy several months ago wandering aimlessly throughout his gardens, smelling the flowers and speaking pleasantly to the snow owls that called the trees home. He wore a long black robe, seemly undisturbed by the summer heat that had everyone else around the garden seeking the comfort of nothingness. The boy had been shorter then, his lanky and athletic frame somewhat undernourished, his spurts of growth taking their toll on his food supply. His voice was charming, the strange dialect somewhat comforting as he spoke to the birds and waited their answers. 

The birds themselves, unused to the delicacies of human speech, cooed and chirped happily, regaling the boy with tales of flight and song. He merely laughed and responded in kind as though he knew exactly of what they spoke. 

The man had met few who understood the tongue of birds and fewer still as young as the boy beside him. After watching and listening for what seemed like hours the man could stand it no longer and he confronted this strange man child that dared to disturb his home and solitude. The boy was unalarmed and unlikely friendship flickered to life between them.

The boys visits became an almost day routine. The man could tell that the boy was wiser then his age. Often times as he laughed the joy could not reach his eyes, instead they remind weary. A clear sign of hardships that the man knew all to well. Still neither one spoke of their lives outside the garden. 

In the months that passed the boy became like a godsend to him. distracting him from the war that threatened at his door daily. He trusted this boy more the anyone else he had every known and so, despite knowing so little about him felt the boy was the only one capable of guarding what the man held so dear to his heart. 

The man sighed, setting his cup back into its saucer. He knew he was an old man, he'd out lived many men born before and after him, so he didn't not seek to further his years. If he was honest and he often was, he would willingly welcome the release of death by any means it came. He didn't not expect to go slowing in his sleep, he had made far to many enemies to die so peacefully. He could except it, was grateful of knowing it but his soul would only rest if he knew that what little resided in his heart would be safe. 

He turned and faced the boy once more, only to find his eyes already on him; their depths lit in amusement. "So talk already, a man can get tired of all your sighing."

The man obscured a smile, the boy sensed him so well. "True my young friend, and I do call you friend though I've known you a short while. To my knowledge we have spoken little about our lives but now I feel I must break this unspoken taboo and ask of you a favor."

The boy looked thoughtful for a moment, then spoke his words rolling off his tongue easily, "Go ahead and ask. I have nothing to keep from you … my friend."

It was strange to hear the boy call him that, yet it felt right, like it had always been so. With a sigh he looked out at the garden, drinking in its beauty and began. Speaking slowly to find just the right words. "My name is Jarnies and I am a warlord, as my father was and as his father was before him. Being thus, my hands are painted with the blood, sweat and tears of many people. I was raised to be a cruel man, hard and emotionless and for many years I was but even the hardest heart must melt." He paused, "I have made many enemies in my life time and even now as I grow weaker they pound on my gates and demand the duel of swords. One day I will fall to one lucky bastard and so I ask you this…tell your name my young friend so I may call upon you to take care of what has weaseled it way into my heart."

He waited for the boy to speak, expecting harsh words or a begrudging answer, knowing he might have over stepped the fragile bounds of their friendship. Seconds ticked by and he watched the sun beginning to set over the gardens, he didn't want to see the boys face. A small part of himself afraid that he would be angry. 

The boys laughter came softly, then built until he roared in delight. The man, Jarnies, turned and looked at him in surprise. Of all the reactions he thought to receive laughter was not one of them. His whole body shook with it, his eyes filling with tears. Then just as the last rays of sunlight belched over the far wall he saw and watched as the boy began to fade, like shadows at noon. His laughter was retreating by then, only a few short chuckles left to fall from his mouth. 

"So my friend Jarnies, you wish to know my name," as he spoke his body faded further, until all that was left was his voice, "Then I'll tell you…I am called Harry Potter."

***~***

"Harry…Harry…Harry…blast it Harry wake up. We're almost there." A familiar voice dragged him from his slumber and his dream. He stretched and rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes then, squinted up at the girl who had so rudely woken him and yawned in her face. 

She was a pretty girl, average height with long wavy brown hair. She wore the customary black witches robe that everyone in the train car had on, although hers was the only one covered in orange cat hair. She was frowning down at him clearly wanting an answer or an apology. "What do you want Hermione?"

"Humph, is that all the thanks I get for making sure you reach Hogwarts at least half conscious." She plopped back down in her own seat and pulled a book from the sleeve of her robe. 

He watched her for a moment, her nose stuck in a book ignoring everyone else. She was angry with him. "Sorry, Hermione…thanks for waking me."

She didn't look up from her book but her fingers loosened around the edges. Harry sighed, it was better then nothing. He looked around at the others in the train car, all of them had suddenly found something they had to do and scurried off. All except Ron the is. 

Ron Weasley; Harry's best friend and confidant for the past five years watched him with a sheepish look of curiosity. He'd grown over the summer, filled out a little more but his face was the same and Harry knew when Ron was dying to ask him something. "What?"

He inched forward in his seat and whispered, "What on earth were you dreaming about?" 

Harry shrugged, "Nothing special. I was just having tea with a Warlord…why do you ask?"

"Well," he scooted closer to Harry. His voice just above a whisper, "Your scar was glowing."


	2. The Promise He Made

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Disclaimer:

The following is a Harry Potter Fan Fic. Harry Potter and all of its subsidiaries are owned exclusively by J. K.. Rowlings…now that you clearly understand that… on with the story…

Chapter Two: The Promise He Made

Harry had no explanation to give him. He really didn't know why his scar had been glowing, he hadn't even realized it was. The usual pain that accompanied it hadn't happened. He wanted to brush of the question with a shrug but somehow he knew that wouldn't suffice. So with a sigh he settled further back into the plush seat, reaching to touch his scar as he went. It felt hot beneath his fingers, like the glowing warmth of a light bulb. The feeling was strange but somewhat calming. Ron and Hermione were watching him, he could feel their eyes boring into his hand. He dropped it quickly to his lap and looked at them. 

"Well?" Ron was insistent, Hermione was peeking over the top of her book to hear his answer.

"I don't know," there really wasn't more he could say. 'Not a clue."

"You've got to know something. It's your scar after all."

Harry looked at him. He really didn't see were that had anything to do with this. "Why don't we just ask Dumbledore when we get to Hogwarts."

That was not what they wanted to hear but they bowed to he his wishes and didn't press him further. They sat in silence for the remainder of the trip, the occasional ruffle of pages heard as Hermione read her book. 

Harry turned away from them, staring out the window once again. He'd been having the same dream almost every night since the end of last semester. The same garden, the same man but the time did seem to change and he and the man, Jarnies he'd called himself, never had the same conversation twice. It was strange, his dreams were like a world of there own, his own personal retreat every time he slept. The dream felt so real to him. 

He clenched his fist and slammed it against the window. From corner of his eye he could see Ron and Hermione staring at him but he refused to answer their unvoiced questions. He knew they wouldn't understand. How could they, their lives might not be perfect but he doubted they had ever really wanted to abandon this world for a dream. 

A sigh escaped his lips once more as he laid head on the glass pane. He sounded surly and depressed but he didn't care. After five years of protecting people who could careless, surely he deserved a few minutes to be a brat. 

His eyes fell from the passing scenery to the hand that lay next to his face. All though faded the words carved into the back side of his hand were still clear and legible. _I must not tell lies_, he gritted his teeth as he remember the damnable woman who had forced him to brand himself. It was good advice, the only thing remotely good that had come from Professor Umbridge and her reign of terror. 

Sluggishly the train dragged to a halt and pulled Harry from his wandering thoughts. In silence he gathered his things and moved off the train. Ron and Hermoine followed him whispering softly to each other. The new first years were herded off toward the boats as the older students climbed into the waiting coaches. Harry scrambled into the nearest coach, trying not to look at the creatures rigged to the front. He was one of the few but growing number of people who could see the strange horse like beasts, the Thestrals or horses of death as he called them privately in the back of his mind. 

***~***

Harry sat in the common room later that night listening to everyone talk about their summers. It sounded wonderful to have all those pleasant memories of family and friends but he couldn't relate. Couldn't even try to because he was having the hardest time just trying to keep his eyes open. 

"Harry…Potter…" a voice fell gently on his ear. He jerked his head up and looked around for its owner. Ron and Neville Longbottom were sitting on either side of him, their attention focused on Seamus Finnigan who was chattering about his trip to the Welsh country side. 

"Harry…Potter…" it came again, weaker but more urgent.

"Ron…" he turned to his friend, "did you say something?"

"No." He looked at him strangely, "Are you okay Harry."

He blinked and shook his head. A light layer of fog was beginning to form at the edges of his vision, "I'm fine, but I think I'm going to bed."

Harry clutched the wall as he made his way up the stairs to the sixth years room. The fog was becoming thicker, the scent of burning wood filling his nostrils as he went. By the time he reached the foot of his bed he felt as though he was surrounded by a blazing inferno. Smoke was everywhere, clogging his nose, burning his eyes. Sweat was rolling down his body in rivulets, drenching his robe and his hair. He tore at his robe, pulling the sodden wool off and collapsing on his bed. He covered his ears and shut his eyes hoping to block out the roar of the fire. 

The voice called his name again, it's sound like a death cry. His eyes snapped open and found himself in the garden once more. Everything was on fire, tiny bodies of the snow owls charred and black on the dirt pathways. The fire snapped, licking at the night sky as he screamed, "Jarnies."

"Har…ry…" his voice came faintly.

Harry rushed forward, following the dying sound. He found him by the tea house, his body lying in a pool of blood. 

"Jarnies," he knelt by the dying man. 

"Harry…you made…it." He coughed, his blood splattering onto Harry, "Thank…you for…coming back…when I cal…led." One of his hands moved slowly, shakily over to Harry, holding something in its fist. "Take this and…remember …remember your…promise…"

***~***

Harry woke the next morning, sore and more tired then he'd ever been in his life. His body was caked in sweat drenched soot and ash, the smell of perspiration and smoke clinging to everything. He remembered what Jarnies had told him, had asked him to do and gritted his teeth. It hadn't been just a dream but even in that world the people he cared about were killed. 

He tightened his fists, gasping in pain as something cut into his palm. He looked down at what rest in the bloody palm of his hand. A crystal, the last thing he had to remember Jarnies by. The old man had held it dearly and Harry refused to let him down. He would protect the crystal with his life. 

Outside of his four poster bed he could hear the other boys already up and about. Their voices cheerful as they joked with one another. With a kick of his legs he throw off the bed spread that had covered him sometime in the night and then yelped as a very warm body snuggled closer to his side. He scrambled from the bed as fast as he could. 

The other boys ran over to him when they saw him race from his bed in little more then burnt boxers. He was staring at his bed in amazement and horror. Their eyes followed his line of vision and all off them gapped in admiration.

Ron was the first to speak, "Way to go Harry."

***~***

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Thanks for all the reviews…I'm so glad you like the story. Happy Reading. ^^ 


	3. The Consequences of Waking Up

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Disclaimer:

The following is a Harry Potter Fan Fic. Harry Potter and all of its subsidiaries are owned exclusively by J. K.. Rowlings…now that you clearly understand that… on with the story…
Chapter three: The Consequences of Waking Up
Last night I dreamed I ate a ten-pound marshmallow, and when I woke up the pillow was gone. –
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Tommy Cooper 

Harry sat in Dumbledore's office, scrunched up in his seat, face beet red. It was too much, too strange, overly heart wrenching, so damn annoying and now he was going to be in more trouble then humanly possible. He closed his eyes, everything had happened so quickly he couldn't believe it was real. If he was lucky it wouldn't be and any second he would wake up from this nightmare. 

He sunk down lower in his seat, trying to avoid the scathing looks from Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, the ancient Gryffindor head of house. It wasn't his fault. How could they possibly blame him. Its not like he had wanted this to happen, had asked for it to happen. He was just as surprised as everyone else. Really more surprised, it had happened to him after all.

Harry peeked open his eyes and glanced at the two adults before him. They were furious, so angry they hadn't said a word since dragging him to Dumbledore's office. Harry straightened and sighed, might as well take his punishment like a man. He could be expelled, by all rights should be. He sighed again and asked himself if he might not be better off back home with the Dursleys. 

'Is that really what you want Master,' a voice purred. 

His gaze jerked around to the chair beside him and Harry found himself staring into the honey browned eyes that had gotten him into this mess. They stared right back at him, gazing through long black lashes and a mess of blonde curls. Harry let his gaze slip, drifting down over her face. Sliding across her little nose, full lips, strong chin, straight down to where she leaned over the arm of her chair. 

Harry blushed and tugged his eyes away. She was wearing one of his old robes. One too small for him to fit in but too large for her petite frame. It was hanging off her shoulders, dipping deeply and revealing what little she wore underneath.

"What did you say," he stammered, trying to put that sight out of his mind. 

"We haven't said anything yet Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall barked, "but rest assured you will get an earful." She stomped around the desk to stand in front of him. "Now I want to know how you got this girl into your bedroom. It's strictly against school policy to have members of the opposite sex in the dorm rooms at night."

"I don't know." The two adults looked at each other and sighed, assuming that he was just being difficult.

"This is a very serious matter Harry," Dumbledore spoke softer, like he was talking to an unruly child. " Bigger then just having a girl in your bed. She is clearly not a student here and there's no reason for her to be on the school grounds. Bringing unauthorized personnel into Hogwarts is worse then using your wand outside of school. Especially when the threat of an attack from You-Know-Who is so great." His voice rose, hinting at stress and worry. "Harry this is a security risk that we just can't have right now. We need to know how you got her into the school in order to stop anyone else from taking the same steps. The consequences could be deadly if we don't."

"I think I realize that more then anyone."

"Then tell us how she got here." McGonagall demanded.

"We'll try and be more lenient if you cooperate Harry." Dumbledore added. "But…"

"But nothing. I understand what you're saying Dumbledore but I haven't a clue on how she got here. I'm just as shocked as everyone else." Harry shook his head, watching their unbelieving faces. "I know this sounds far fetched but believe me, I'm telling you the truth. I really don't know how she got here…in my bed."

"Honestly Harry," Minerva McGonagall snorted, "Given your state of dress or undress I should say, how can anyone believe that ludicrous story. You're a teenaged boy, everyone knows what goes on in your head. Being the Boy-Who-Lived does not change that."

'The Boy-Who-Lived,' Harry felt the girls head settle onto his shoulder, their chairs suddenly closer. He turned to look down at her and watched as her hand moved to his forehead. She brushed away the bangs and lightly touched his scar. Caressing it gently. 'That explains so much.'

Her touch, so soothing, stole his will and left him peaceful. Empty, void of all thoughts of expulsion and Voldemort. It was as if the world had faded away to leave just the two of them. Vaguely he could hear someone familiar yelling at him but it seemed too distance and easily ignored. He settled back, just letting her fingers trail over his scar and enjoying the sensation. It was unreal, no ones touch had ever had this affect on him. Not even when they had touched the scar. 

His scar. Wizards, witches, strangers cornered him to see it, begged for him to let them touch it. They cooed over it, excited and anxious. Praising him, mocking him for being the Boy-Who-Lived.

Boy-Who-Lived…that explains so much. Harry's fuzzy mind began to drag itself from the hazy depths of oblivion. Using her words to pull away from her control and command his own body again. With the slightest bit of regret he removed her hand from his forehead. Only to continue to hold it, stroking the backside absentmindedly. He watched her eyes, waiting for them to darken in anger but they remained calm.

"What did you mean…"

"You know BLOODY well what I meant Harry Potter." Harry dropped her hand like it was on fire and jerked his head around to face Professor McGonagall. "100 points from Gryffindor for lying to a Professor. It's quite obvious Mr. Potter that yours is not a new relationship." 

"I'm not lying…I swear I've never seen her before."

"Another 100 points from Gryffindor." He opened mouth to speak but she cut him off quickly. "I can keep going Mr. Potter until Gryffindor is in debt."

"Master Potter is not lying Ma'am," the girls voice broke in softly. "Our waking was the first he ever set eyes on me." Her head remained on his shoulder as she spoke. "It was not allowed until Master agreed to his promise."

"Excuse me…" Dumbledore started, but Harry interrupted him.

"Agreed to a promise…"Harry was shocked, a sudden realization coming over him. "Wait a second, does that mean you know Jarnies?"

"Of course Master," the girl laughed and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. "Master Jarnies is the one who sent me with you…it was what you agreed too."

"Of course but I…that is to say…I mean… Oh boy."

The two adults stood in mild shock, desperately trying to make heads or tales of what was happening. There was something going on, something more then just having a stranger in the school. 

Dumbledore cleared his throat, "Minerva, Harry, would you please go down to the Great Hall. I would like to speak with Harry's guest alone."

"I don't think…"

"Just go Harry. Everything will be fine."

***~***

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I finally got chapter three up, thanks to a very good friend of mine who got my computer up and running again. Apparently my brother-in-law accidentally did something to it when he and my sister were visiting.

The bad thing is my friend wasn't able to save all of my files…in other words I lost what I had already had written on this chapter. T_T

Strangely enough it turned out for the better. I had to start from scratch and I think the second go at it turn out much better then the original.

I'd like to say thanks to everyone who reviewed. It's so nice to find out what you think of the story.

Thanks —

Jamesismysweetheart

Evil purple cliffie bunny (I just love that name. ^^)

Mysticaldreams

MarkoQuill

Cariel 

The DarkAngel Serra

Lyra Pendragon

Magee

SmacksKiller

I hope this chapter answered some of your questions….Happy Reading ^^


	4. Dining Without an Explanation Part 1

First I want to say to all of you reading this that I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I had originally intended to post this much sooner but, alas, Life got in the way. I sincerely hope that you still will enjoy this next chapter despite its sever lateness.
    Next, I just have to say that this is the shortest chapter in the entire story. Both part one,
    and part two are merely little snippets before the story really starts to pick up. 
Chapter Four Part 1: Dining Without an Explanation 
    
Never explain--your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway. –
    Elbert Hubbard (1856 - 1915)

It didn't even take half the morning for Harry decided that boys, especially Gryffindor boys, were terrible gossips.

He stood just outside the Great Hall, hoping that the dull roar on the other side of doors was someone cleaning or fighting or even Death Eaters attacking, anything but the other students. He could just imagine what the other sixth year boys had been saying. None of it could be good or at least not good for getting him out of the trouble still brewing in Dumbledore's office.

Not that there was much hope of getting out of trouble anyway - that was pretty much obvious.

Still, as much as he wanted to avoid social contact he really didn't have much of a choice. There was no getting out of class and he had to eat sometime. Slightly more resolved, Harry pushed open the doors and entered the Great Hall.

His entrance had a ripple affect on the entire room, all conversations stumbled to a halt. One by one the other students turned to face him. Their faces expressionless, some with food halfway to their mouths. He waited for someone to speak, to break the eerie silence. Seconds ticked by and still no one moved. Harry sighed, something he'd been doing a lot of as of late, and grudgingly headed to where Ron and Hermoine sat eating. 

All attention was on him as he made his way to his friends; the slap of his feet against the stone floor echoing in the silent room. He kept his head down not wanting to meet anyone's eyes, especially the eyes the professors that were now staring at him in disapproval. They'd heard about the girl, by now they'd have had too, and they obviously thought the worst. 

"Harry," his head flew up as a familiar voice called his name.

"Yes," he blurted out as he made eye contact with an unhappy Hermoine.

"Is it true Harry," she demanded. Harry blushed and mumbled, what, under his breath but she ignored him as she rushed on, "Is it true that you had a girl in your bed?"

"Ah… something like that, yeah." 

"I thought you were better then that Harry."

"No offense Hermoine," Ron ducked sheepishly into the conversation, saving Harry from the now seething girls' wrath, "but I've seen the girl and you really don't get much better then that."


End file.
